The moon on the one hand, the dawn on the other:
The moon is my sister, the dawn is my brother.
The moon on my left hand, the dawn on my right.
My brother, good morning:my sister good night.
-Hilaire Belloc

Inside my egg there was so much to see,
a frog by a pond, and a crow in a tree,
a bear licking honey, three mice and a flea,
and sights never seen, not by them, not by me.

How big is this egg? asked the frog to the bear,
but the bear could not answer, for he did not care.
We don't think it matters, squeaked the mice, over there,
to the crow, who decided to see, from the air.

So I jumped from the tree and fell into the skies,
and discovered no limit to what filled my eyes.
I think it's as big as the biggest of size,
squawked I, to the frog, and continued to rise.

Soon all the egg was left far down below,
and the heavens now opening, continued to grow.
While the air became thinner, and progress was slow,
still I climbed ever higher, still wanting to know.

With a crack, I ran into the edge of the shell,
and pecked it a few times, really doing quite well.
And when I was able, I popped through, and fell,
and discovered this thing that I now want to tell...

For my egg was the same, both without and within,
but to tell it, I don't quite know where to begin.
There are parts of the shell quite especially thin,
where the light from forever comes streaming right in.

If you look very hard for the light that is there,
you will find that it leads you to everywhere.
There are frogs, there are mice, there are crows, and a bear,
there is honey, a tree, and a great deal of air.

And this is my little autobiography.
From an egg to a crow to a life in a tree.
With a great deal of noise, just to fall silently,
to be right where I am, is just right where I'll be.

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.

potatotoro wrote:All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.

Wow--the first two lines of this poem are one of my favourite life-long quotes!

Shy Lady Moon, she doesn't show
all of her face at once, you know?
She turns around in gentle pace,
each night reveils more of her face
until you see her full and bright.
To silver day she turns the night.
For her we dance, to her we pray,
and then she slowly turns away.

...but while we watch, mouths open wide,
she laughs in glee, she loves to hide.
A tease, a taunt, a show of leg,
a crescent sliver, for more we beg.
She takes her time, the lights are low,
she'll slowly climb, and start to show,
her bosom in its silver veil,
her torso clad in shining mail.
'til suddenly, heavy with child,
transformed once more, as all the while,
as bunnies gape and hop, delight,
beneath her smile, within her sight.
She'll spread herself in glory, full,
then exit, right, in wonder, full.